The Crows

They call me into night
A flurry of obsidian,
dark shine inside a shapeless moon…
They stay where words end.
Call of an empty November
that seals the marrow of my bones
in bitter morning.
Creak upon my movements
The tinman holds herself
Still, before the winter comes: soft
warnings in the graying in the tides.
This haven of the crows,
the closing of the skies.
And snow white, upon the pavement,
The warmth that was my blood falls
from lips and tongues that cried out
in silence.
The crows come
and sweep away the dead.

“The Crows” ©November 2011 by Natalie Webster, all rights reserved by the poet

Natalie Webster’s poetry has been published in Take It to the Street Poetry’s Force Fed as well as on the on-line blog Infloressence.  She received her B.A. in Language Studies from the University of California at Santa Cruz and is currently pursuing a Master’s in Counseling Psychology from John F. Kennedy University.  Her spare time is spent working creatively with children’s art classes on painting, creating and writing who, for better or for worse, are her muses. Natalie keeps a web scrapbook of inspirations and writing sketches at Ice and Coffee.